


Have Gun, Will Travel

by fourteenlines



Category: Farscape
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22252333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourteenlines/pseuds/fourteenlines
Summary: Crichton deserves to die.





	Have Gun, Will Travel

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "good characters gone bad" challenge at Farscape Friday.
> 
> Originally posted circa November 2003.

The sirens went off just microts before a series of explosions rocked the tenement building. Pieces of stone fell in chunks from the ceiling. One struck a small child in the head; she barely had time to squall before she fell to the floor, bloody and unconscious. 

The two Peacekeeper refugees at the end of the hall exchanged a glance. This was it then. 

"Crichton," Sisla said. 

"Most likely," answered Kek. 

Another explosion threatened to bring five floors down on their heads. They ran. Ran past dozens of children lining the halls, dirty, diseased, waiting for parents who would never return. The older children cried out for help, but Kek and Sisla, of course, didn't stop. 

They reached the back exit and knocked out the surprised guard. They hurtled into the street just in time. The old building began to fold in on itself, so slowly Sisla stopped to stare at it, mesmerized. Kek grabbed her arm, pulled her down an alley, and they kept running. 

The building made a terrible rumbling as it came down, resounding in their ears and filling their heads with white noise. So it was that Kek took a pulse blast in this leg before they even heard shots fired. 

"Frell!" he cursed as his knees hit the ground. He let go of Sisla just in time to avoid pulling her down with him. "Go, go, go!" he shouted. 

But Sisla did not go. She spun around, defiant, in time to see a figure appear at the end of the alley. Crichton was, as always, clad head-to-toe in gleaming black: scarred leather, reflective helmet, big wicked pulse gun trained on Sisla's gut. 

"Frell you, Crichton!" she shouted, and then shockingly, shamefully, burst into tears. 

Crichton removed her helmet and shook loose her long, dark hair. Every muscle stood out against the leather of her clothing. The gun looked recently polished. There was no possible way that Sisla, gawky, adolescent and unarmed, could have a chance against that. 

"Oh, I think your _unit_ pretty much took care of that the first minute I got here," Olivia Crichton snapped. She started down the alley toward them, slow, smooth, dangerous. 

Kek, gritting his teeth, protested. "We had nothing to _do_ with that!" 

"Our commanding officer ordered it," Sisla said tersely, managing speak strongly even through her involuntary tears. "We didn't..." 

Crichton shook her head, just the slightest bit. "You killed him," she said softly, stopping mere denches from Sisla. "Right in front of me." 

"I've _told_ you," Sisla snarled. "Half the people I knew died on that Command Carrier. Four of the nurseries were flooded immediately. Two of the cadet's dormitories were blocked in an explosion. _Hundreds_ of my comrades died. Is that not reason for justice?" 

"And YOU!" Kek yelled. "You just destroyed an orphanage!" 

"Your brother deserved to die," Sisla said determinedly. " _You_ deserve to die." 

Crichton smiled sadly. "Oh, honey," she said, stroking Sisla's face. Sisla flinched away. "So do you." 

She pulled the trigger. 


End file.
